Democracy Sacrificed in Korean Struggle

Like Americans, most Koreans prefer politics as a straight-forward contest between the forces of good and evil where every right-thinking citizen knows clearly where he stands. Thus whenever the issue of justice commands the spotlight in Korea, opposition fortunes soar.

This is one of those times. The government’s embarrassing admission of police torture in the death last December of a detained student has triggered a nation-wide wave of indignation that has forced President Chun Doo Hwan to resort to naked repression to retain control of the streets. With singular ineptitude, the normally adroit Chun has handed the opposition precisely what it needs to revive its sagging morale: a simple morality play where “the two Kims”--the opposition’s charismatic leaders Kim Dae Jung and Kim Young Sam--lead a “people power” crusade for justice.

As recently as January the two Kims were isolated from a public increasingly weary of their sophistry over a new constitution. Even Lee Min Woo, the figurehead president of the Kims’ own New Korean Democratic Party, broke ranks with his “seven-point program,” offering to accept the government’s proposal for a British-style parliamentary government in return for detailed guarantees of fair elections. The ruling, military-backed Democratic Justice Party welcomed the opening; just talking with the NKDP would lend an air of legitimacy to DJP rule.

It is one of the many paradoxes of the current Korean scene that the parliamentary constitution proposed by Chun’s party is viewed by many observers as inherently more democratic than the U.S.-style presidential system, which even anti-government Koreans see as little more than a vehicle for the two Kims’ ambition. These were compelling points only a few weeks ago, but today, when the overriding issue is the legitimacy of the Chun regime itself, such arguments sound legalistic and pusillanimous.

But there is a revealing irony in the Kims’ present stance that ought to give one pause. Rarely have the opposition’s electoral prospects been as good as in the present climate, and yet even their own supporters concede that the two Kims will never compromise for the sake of elections alone, however highly they may rate their chances of success. “I know it is irrational,” said Hong Sa-duk, an opposition assemblyman close to the two Kims. “But I know the character of our leaders; they will not calculate mere advantage.”

Perhaps it is not so irrational. Compromise with the ruling party may promise the opposition a share of power now. But the two Kims prefer to retain their posture--above compromise, steady in the struggle and true to the purity of their principles--for it is from such higher virtue that the moral authority will flow to allow (one of) the two Kims to one day rule all Koreans, and rule them absolutely.

How much the spirit of democracy in Korea is being sacrificed in the struggle for democracy is evident in the iron grip that the Kims retain at the helm of the opposition. There is little democracy in their own camp, where loyalty is prized above all else. Constitutional issues are not debated openly. And even though--indeed because--an estimated 40 of his party’s 90 assembly members were sympathetic to Lee’s seven-point program, the Kims forced him into an ignominious retraction of the scheme.

The two Kims have received a damaging vote of no confidence from the influential Roman Catholic church which, unlike its Filipino counterpart, has expressed reservations over the charismatic politics of the opposition leaders. Cardinal Stephen Kim not only called upon Chun Doo Hwan to step down; he urged the two Kims to renounce their presidential ambitions as well, implying a moral equivalence among the three. By clearing away the two Kims and one Chun, the cardinal hopes to open the way for a democratic compromise between their parties.

Cardinal Kim sees clearly what most American observers do not: Behind the superficial appeals to democratic values, the two Kims are tapping the same deep-rooted traditions of legitimacy that bolsters the Chun regime itself. As elsewhere in Asia, traditional authority in Korea has everything to do with compelling righteousness and personal power, but almost nothing to do with the rule of law, respect for institutions, or even, necessarily, elections.

Korea’s best hope for democracy lies in the ambivalence of its growing middle classes, which are now too sophisticated not to be insulted by the ubiquitous military but are too prosperous to embrace radical solutions.

Some observers now believe that Chun may impose an emergency before the universities reopen late this month. If, however, Chun can ride out this phase without invoking extraordinary powers, the prospects for compromise will improve. The 1988 Olympics, an event of national pride for all Koreans, imposes a hard deadline that all sides are likely to respect.